write it down

“A woman sitting by herself is not waiting for you.”

(Caitlin Stasey)

“The yard is full of hard rubbish it’s a mess and I guess the neighbors must think we run a meth lab”

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music songs: avant gardener – courtney barnett,  berlin – shmemel, charlie – colin meloy, river on your right- tylan/ingrid elizabeth, london – she and him, i wish i was the moon- neko case, i follow rivers – lykke li, old college try – the mountain goats

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From How to Be a Heroine (Samantha Ellis)

“The boys were studying fascinating, abstruse Talmud, while we girls learned each festival via its cakes. We baked honeycakes for Rosh Hashanah, hamentaschen for Purim, macaroons for Pesach. One day we left the creamy Shavuot cheesecakes to cool while we went off to learn about the purity laws. We returned to find nothing but crumbs. The boys had eaten the cakes. As we washed up the empty tins, I wondered why no one else was angry.”

(Reblogged from Lilit Goes)

Right in front of you (Jami Attenberg)

Been talking to some of my students about writing what’s right in front of you instead of worrying about where it’s going to be six chapters from now. If you look over your shoulder when you’re writing – particularly in the early stages of a novel – you might stop yourself from moving forward. You can’t hesitate when you’re generating pages, you can’t question yourself too much. Write the thing that’s easiest first, the thing that’s offering itself up to you, and work your way up to the hard stuff. If you can find an entry point, good lord, take it.

Now I find myself having to apply that same advice to myself. I’ve been seeing a particular house in my daydreams that I know lies in the distance somewhere in my writing. Maybe it’s this book, maybe it’s the next. It’s in the woods, in a small town, and there’s a light on. All my most memorable dreams are about living spaces: hotel rooms, bedrooms, apartments, lofts, houses. I dream of old, lived-in houses, messy houses, brand new houses that I automatically own even though I’ve never paid a dime for them. For every stage of my life there’s a house. There’s a house in Disgrace that’s small, and there’s a house in Housekeeping, too, and I’ve been thinking about those spaces a lot lately. A house is the easiest metaphor to exploit, sure, but sometimes things are easy for a reason.

This house that I’m imagining though is so far in the distance I can’t even begin to see inside it. (Though I have a little idea of who is in there.) So I’m totally letting it go. I’m just going to write the things I know I can write first, even if I have to throw them away. They’re my hurdles, and once I jump them, I get inside that house.

(Jami Attenberg’s Tumblr is here.)

the catapult, episode 13- Matthea Harvey & Emily Gould

“From mermaids to the Midwest, this episode has something for everyone: poems from Matthea Harvey and fiction from Emily Gould. Also some musings on cat ownership and writing and how they’re maybe the same thing, plus some ambient construction sounds from recording at Emily’s apartment. Apologies for the buzzsaw; enjoy the rest.”

 

(Listen to the podcast here.)

sentences

“An airplane crossed the sky, and she imagined its interior- people packed in rows like eggs in a carton, the chemical smell of the toilets, pretzels in foil pouches, cans hiss, popping open, black oval of night sky imbedded in the rattling walls. How strange that something so drab, so confused, so stifling with sour exhalations and the fumes of indifferent machinery, might be mistaken for a star.”

(Maggie Shipstead, Seating Arrangements)

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